Home of the Spartans!
by hoktauri
Summary: It's a new year at Lakewood High, and John Sheppard finds himself drawn to one of the new students.


John's cleats dug into the rain-loosed soil, throwing up clods of dirt and sod as he ran towards the end zone, ball tucked firmly against his left side. His eyes barely registered thirteen seconds on the clock. His calves protested the burst of adrenalin his heart pumped out, but he kept running. The defensive lineman rushing toward him appeared in his peripheral vision, renewing his commitment to reach his destination. _Burn through it,_ he told himself.

As John crossed the thirty yard line, he saw the lineman lunging, heard the clash of helmets and shoulder pads as Ronon tackled the man to the ground. John felt the brush of the man's fingertips on his arm and propelled himself over the twenty, over the ten, beyond the end zone, and collapsed to a halt beneath the goal post.

An eruption of cheering and applause took over his ears and John smiled.

He felt two pairs of hands hoist him off the ground and Cameron tore off his helmet, smacking John with it right in the chest.

"Ow," John said.

"God _damn,_ that was beautiful," Cameron said. "Do you see that score?"

John took off his helmet and looked up for confirmation of what he already knew: the Spartans had won, twenty-three to twenty-one.

He grinned. September was going to be a very good month.

* * *

John was pulling off his gear before he entered the locker room. Ronon was close on his heels. Evan had his locker open before John and Ronon crossed to theirs, smoothing his hair into place.

"You're about to shower," Ronon said, bouncing his helmet against Evan's shoulder. "Just gonna have to fix it again."

"Yeah, yeah," Evan said.

"Great play, guys," John called out as he opened his locker.

"Yeah, I could get used to winning," Cameron said. He plopped down on the bench to pull off his cleats.

Ronon dialed the combination to his locker.

"Don't know what you closed it for anyway," John said, stripping down for his shower.

"I didn't," Ronon said. "It's jammed."

He re-dialed the lock and heard something _clank_ behind it.

"What the hell?"

"_Do you have a flashlight in here, by chance?"_

John paused, his thumbs hooked into his waistband, and stared at Ronon's locker.

Ronon lifted an eyebrow in John's direction.

"Let me guess," Ronon said to his locker, "Kolya's gang?"

"_I don't know, I'm new here."_

"Well, that explains a lot," John said.

"_Does this happen often around here?"_ the voice asked. John thought the guy sounded embarrassed, sure, but also calm, like he'd been through this before.

"Kolya's kind of our welcoming committee," John said, trying for humor.

"_Then I feel right at home,"_ the voice said.

John half-smiled then tried to help Ronon pry the door open.

"We could get the janitor," John said.

"_If you've got a flashlight in here, I can probably fix the lock from inside."_

"Uh, yeah," Ronon said. "There's a small pen-light in my backpack. Front pocket."

There was the sound of shuffling inside the locker and John heard the zipper of the backpack.

"Got it," the voice said.

"Do you need us to do anything on our side?" John asked.

"_Just re-dial the combination, make sure it's unlocked,"_ the voice replied.

Ronon re-dialed. "Ok, you're good to go."

John saw the tiny light from the pen-light coming through the vent at the bottom of the locker. He realized the entire locker room was quiet. Everyone was staring, waiting. Evan had a comb in his hand, mid-swipe. Cameron had his hands on his hips. The other guys were all in various stages of undress, towels slung over shoulders and soap in hand.

Then John heard the _clink_ of the tumbler sliding open, and Ronon helped the guy of the locker.

"Hi," John said, which made him feel stupid as soon as he said it. The boy was their age, probably a junior as well, and only about an inch shorter than John. At first glance of the boy's broad shoulders and chest, John wondered how he'd even fit into the tiny metal contraption. Then he thought the buy would probably make a good fullback for the team.

"Thanks," the boy said, handing Ronon his pen-light. He glanced around the locker room, looking a bit sheepish when his eyes fell to John and his bare chest, and he made a dash for the exit.

"Well, that was different," Evan said.

"Not really," Cameron replied, heading for the shower.

"Hey, Cam, you see that cheerleader checking you out?" Elliot asked, snapping his towel against the back of Cameron's thigh.

"Which one? There are only a dozen of 'em."

"I think her name's Amelia," Elliot crooned, and Ronon grabbed Elliot around the shoulders and rubbed his fist into the man's hair.

"Amelia's only got eyes for one guy," Cameron said, "and it ain't me."

"No, but Vala sure had her sights on you," Evan said.

"What? Vala? You serious?"

"Showers, guys," John reminded them. "Todd gets bitchy when he has to wait around to lock up."

"Yeah, yeah, we're going," Cameron said, but he had a stupid grin on his face the rest of the night.

* * *

The weekend was over before John could even think about sleeping in, and third period biology seemed to drag into eternity. He elbowed Jennifer and mimed for an eraser. She handed over her pencil so he could correct something in his notes and handed it back.

When the bell rang, Jennifer was still peering through the microscope at the cells from the pig's brain.

"You gonna take that home with you?" John asked. He shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders and folded his arms.

"No," she said with a laugh. "It's just fascinating, don't ya think?"

"Guess so," John said.

"You preferred cutting the pig open?" Jennifer asked, peering up at John through long sandy-colored lashes.

"Actually, I prefer the insides of machines to life forms, but that's just me," John replied.

Jennifer started to clean up her slides and let John put the microscope away. They headed out into the hall, pushing through the crowd of energetic students.

"I'm surprised Dr. Frasier didn't assign us homework today," Jennifer said.

"Doesn't bother me," John said. He stopped at his locker.

Jennifer leaned back against the lockers next to John's. "Sure," she said. "But you don't have high ambitions like some of us."

"I have ambition," John said as he switched out a couple of books in his bag.

"Such as?"

"Get to class on time?"

"Now, for you? That would be an achievement."

The bell rang again.

"I gotta get to the cafeteria before they write me up," Jennifer said. "For wandering the halls." She rolled her eyes and gave John's arm a squeeze as she headed off.

"Bye," John said, snapping his locker shut.

The halls cleared, and John felt he probably should consider getting to classes on time. When he started toward fourth period history—he was actually excited about Dr. Weir's lectures this week—he heard a bang from inside one of the lockers and stopped.

"Damn it," he muttered.

"_Sorry to bother you,"_ a voice called from inside the locker, number 225, John noted. _"Think you could get me outta here?"_

"I don't have the combination," John said. The voice was familiar—the guy from the athlete's locker room.

"_That's fine, it's my locker,"_ the voice said.

"Okay."

"_Thirty-two, fourteen, twenty-seven,"_ the voice said.

John dialed the lock and opened the door. The same boy stepped out, straightening his hair. He had a couple of what looked like candy bar wrappers in his hand and shoved them onto the top shelf as he started grabbing for his bag and books.

"No thank you this time?" John said, leaning sideways against the locker.

"Sorry, um, thanks," the boy said.

"I hope this isn't going to be an everyday occurrence," John said. "I may not always be around to bail you out."

The boy shook his head. "I don't have any way of promising otherwise. The data's still out."

"Let me guess, Mathlete? Chess club? Or, wait—Mensa?"

The boy stopped and looked at John. "Honestly, I'd much rather be shoved into my locker every day then try to make small talk with a football player."

"Gee, that's really grateful of you," John said. "Maybe you'll get your wish."

The boy reeled back as if John might shove him back in.

"Christ, I didn't mean _I_ was going to," John said.

"Yeah, well, isn't that guy—Kolya, you called him?—isn't he a football player, too?"

"Rugby, actually," John said. "Him and Cowen both. Sports offerings are really great at this school—but so are the assholes."

"Anyway, I'm Canadian," the boy said.

"Oh. Hi, I'm John," John said with his hand held out. The boy took it with a suspicious glare. "It's nice to meet you, Canadian."

The boy scoffed, but a tiny smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"That's my _nationality_," he said, "not my name."

"So that's why they're picking on you, eh? The new kid's from Canada."

"I don't even know," the boy said. "It's a mystery. Name's Rodney, anyway."

He slammed his locker shut.

Then a shrill voice echoed down the hall. "Meredith! Where have you _been_?"

A girl came running down the hall towards them, throwing her arms around Rodney.

"You weren't at lunch, I was looking everywhere!"

"I've been at my locker the whole time," Rodney said.

She smacked him in the chest, backhanded, and Rodney winced. "Liar."

"Um, I may be out of the loop here, but did she call you 'Meredith'?" John asked.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes, the other reason why you won door number 225, my first name is—-_that_-—and," Rodney glared at the girl, "_she_ knows I hate it."

"Think I solved the mystery," John said.

"I've called him Meredith all his life, why should I change?"

"Because his sanity depends on it?" John offered.

The girl locked eyes with John in a near-enough semblance of a bull locking horns with an interloper.

"Jeannie, John. John, Jeannie. There. Now both of you go away," Rodney said. "Especially if you're not gonna call me Rodney like I asked you to."

"Have you ever been shoved in a locker?" John asked Jeannie as they watched Rodney walk away.

To her credit, she sighed heavily and replied, "No. And this isn't the worst it's ever been for him. We moved here because our last school was so bad."

"Um, _him_ is still in earshot, thank you," Rodney called down the hall.

"So, siblings, then," John said to himself, glad that she wasn't Rodney's girlfriend, and wondered how soon Kolya's gang would be lining up to shove _him_ in a locker if they knew what he was thinking right then.

Jeannie trotted off to catch up with her brother and John wanted to follow, but he shook his head of it, glad at least to know that they were siblings, that they weren't _dating_ as John had first suspected. He hoped Weir wouldn't notice him slip into his seat as she finished the day's lecture on the Roman Empire.

* * *

Jeannie invited John over for dinner that night as a way to thank him for saving her brother, and John was all too happy to accept. He checked the air on the tires of his rusted-out Beetle—the only thing off the lot he could afford on a life guard's salary—and read over Jeannie's directions to the McKay house.

John's father would've bought him a brand new BMW M3, and John had to admit he drooled a little every time he saw one, but the day he started relying on his father's money was the day he stopped making his own decisions.

The door to Rodney's house was opened by a petite woman of about thirty-five with the same startlingly blue eyes as both of her children. She ushered John inside and started taking his jacket before he could even shrug out of it.

"Come in, come in," the woman chirped. "Excuse the house, we're still unpacking."

"Oh, sure," John said.

"I can't begin to thank you enough for looking after Meredith," the woman said as she hung up John's jacket in the hall closet.

"_Mom, I can hear you!"_ Rodney's voice echoed from somewhere in the house.

"Yes, of course, dear!" his mother shouted back. Then she turned and smiled at John, a quirky, lopsided grin. "You'll just excuse _Meredith_, he's so sensitive sometimes."

John grinned back and followed Mrs. McKay into the kitchen.

Jeannie stood by the kitchen island shucking an ear of corn alongside a tall, broad-shouldered man John guessed was their father. He had Rodney's hair and Jeannie's nose—or rather, they had his—and John knew he was where Rodney got his build.

"You must be John," the man said, offering his hand. His handshake was firm and short. "Robert McKay. Call me Bob."

"Bob," John said, trying it out. "Nice to meet you."

"Oh, I'm such a dunderhead," Mrs. McKay announced. "I'm Irene, dear."

John smiled every time she said the word 'dear'. It reminded him of his own mother.

Then Rodney entered the kitchen, covered in grease up to his elbows. He wore a slim-fitting Star Wars t-shirt that reminded John just how well-built the guy was.

"Dad, I couldn't find the—" He paused, his eyes taking in John, and then shook his head a bit. "Couldn't find the extension cord for the air compressor."

"Worry about it later," Bob said, dumping the shucked corn into a pot on the stove. "You need to wash up for dinner."

"Yeah, yeah," Rodney said, and he backed through the swinging kitchen door, his eyes locked on the floor near John's feet.

"And don't mess up the bathroom again!" Jeannie shouted.

"So John," Irene started as she pulled out a large cookie sheet, "you know how to knead dough?"

John's eyebrows shot up, and Irene only laughed.

* * *

Rodney came back into the kitchen just as John was helping Irene finish the table setting in the dining room. She grabbed Rodney's arm and dragged him along with them.

Jeannie pulled out a chair for John next to her and he caught the eye-roll Rodney sent his sister.

"Rodney tells us you play football?" Bob said as John took his seat.

"Yes, sir," John said.

Rodney stopped mid-chew and stared at him.

Bob only chuckled. "No need for formalities in this house, son. A simple 'yeah, sure' will suffice."

John let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and began to help himself to the food. Rodney started chewing again.

"What position do you play?" Irene asked.

"Quarterback," John said softly.

"Oh, really?" Irene said. "The star of the Lakewood football team, here at our dinner table."

"Mom..." Rodney said. "There's no need to embarrass anyone tonight, is there?"

"Who's embarrassed?" Irene asked.

"Actually, I was gonna mention it later," John said, catching Rodney's eye, "but you'd make a good fullback or tight end."

Rodney choked on his most recent bite of food, bringing up his napkin to cover the fit of coughing that followed.

"Rod, they're football positions," Bob said.

Jeannie hid a grin behind her hand.

"Anyway," Irene said, "you won Friday's game, didn't you?"

"We did," John said. "Wasn't sure we'd pull it off, but we managed."

"Yes, yes, we should all aspire to such heights of greatness," Rodney said, glaring at John.

"Meredith," Irene chided. "There's no need to be rude."

"Mom, can I borrow your car Thursday?" Jeannie said, breaking up the tension that had formed between them. "Mathlete meeting."

"Yes, of course," Irene said. "Is your brother going?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. John considered keeping a counter in his pocket to see how many times a day the guy did that.

"Yes, I'm going," Rodney said.

"I'll be there," John said.

Rodney dropped his fork.

"You're in the Mathletes?" Jeannie said, her eyes now wide as her smile.

"Well," John said, trying not to get caught in a lie. He'd always wanted to join, but then he saw kids getting shoved into lockers and thought better of it. Better to keep his head down and not make waves. "No one's in it yet, this week's the first meeting."

Jeannie's smile faded a little. "Were you in it last year?"

John shook his head. "Not enough time."

"A football player who enjoys math?" Rodney said. "Or are you going just to stake out some new victims?'

"Hey," John said, and without thinking he kicked his foot under the table and met with Rodney's shin. It was something he did to Dave at the dinner table, and he felt right at home doing it here, too. Rodney's angered wince only encouraged him. "I was the one who got you out of a locker—-_twice_."

"Actually, I got me out the first time, thanks to Conan's flashlight," Rodney said.

"Ronon," John corrected him.

Rodney waved his hand in dismissal. "Whatever. And I gave you my combination to get me out the second time."

"Fine, then the next time someone shoves you into a locker, I'll just keep walking," John said, "and you can test your abilities better without me around to distract you."

"Boys," Irene said pointedly. When she had their attention, she stood. "It's time for dessert."

* * *

"Meredith, why don't you show John what you're working on in the garage?" Bob said. "We'll take care of clean-up."

Rodney and John hadn't stopped glaring at each other since Irene brought out the pie. The conversation was left in the hands of those well-suited to carry it, and Jeannie, Irene, and Bob had a lot of laughs over Jeannie's impression of her chemistry teacher, Dr. Beckett.

The tension drained out of John as soon as Rodney opened the garage door.

Despite its cobbled-together appearance, the go-kart looked sturdy. The frame's height reached John's waist, and only upon close inspection could he see where the bars were welded together. The single bucket seat had a Saab emblem in the middle below the headrest. The only thing that appeared to be missing was a steering wheel.

"Most of this was scrap from the junkyard," Rodney said, smiling for once.

"This is way cool," John said.

"Yeah, well, this is Jeannie's," Rodney said. "You like the one I'm making for her, you should see mine."

With a bit of flare, Rodney directed John's attention to a blue tarp covering something a little smaller than the go-kart. Rodney peeled the tarp away to reveal an ugly monstrosity of a motorcycle. It looked even more like spare parts than the go-kart did. One of the wheels was off, propped up in the corner by the air compressor—-completely flat.

John grinned.

"Does it run?"

"Not yet," Rodney replied. "I've still got to find a battery that isn't mostly dead, the tire on that wheel has a hole in it somewhere, but I can't find it, and it needs a new transmission. The one I found for it, I thought I could re-build, but it'll be cheaper just to find another one."

"Wow," John said, running a hand over the navy blue steel frame. He knelt by the bike for a better look.

"Don't get drool on it, now," Rodney said with a chuckle.

John straightened up, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. "So how'd you know how to do this?"

"Dad taught me," Rodney said. "He's a mechanic. He got a new job here, that's why we moved."

"Thought Jeannie said you were getting teased too badly," John said with a smirk, trying for light, but Rodney's face fell. He threw the tarp back over the bike.

"That was why we changed schools," he said, heading back for the house.

"Hey, I didn't—" John started. He caught up with Rodney. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well."

"What happened at your last school?"

Rodney stopped half-way up the porch steps and stared back at John. "Why should I tell you?"

John shrugged. "You don't have to."

Rodney walked over to the porch swing and sat down. John leaned back against the railing. Rodney rolled his eyes. "You can sit, too. Moron."

John almost laughed and sat beside Rodney.

"I have a citrus allergy," Rodney said, folding his arms. "The guys that picked on me at my last school, they found out about it, and spiked my coffee with lemon. I could taste it, of course, but by then it was too late."

"What happened?"

"I got a ride in an ambulance, a day in the hospital, and a school transfer when the administration wouldn't do anything about it. They said cause it happened off school grounds, it was out of their hands."

"That sucks," John said, not sure if it was the right thing, but he didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah," Rodney agreed. "I'm actually glad we changed schools, though. Lakewood has one of the best IB programs in the southeast—I mean, have you looked at the credentials some of these people have? The only teacher I have without a PhD in _something_ is that computer teacher, Mr. Grodin."

"There's Mr. O'Neill," John said. "No PhD there."

"I'm talking about the _sciences_," Rodney said. "You don't need a PhD to teach English."

"O'Neill gets pretty excited about it," John said.

"Are you really going to the Mathlete meeting with Jeannie?" Rodney asked. "You know she thinks you're hot."

John laughed. "She does?"

"Yeah, now answer the question. I need to know if I have to protect my sister's virtue."

John folded his arms over his chest. "You're still going, right?"

Rodney whipped his head around to stare at John again, a different stare then the ones across the dinner table or in the garage.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I have homework."

"Oh, come on," John said. "Genius like you? You can do homework in your sleep. Or instead of sleep. Right?"

"You probably can't even _do_ math," Rodney said.

"How 'bout a game of Prime, Not Prime?" John suggested, quirking an eyebrow. "Maybe that'll satisfy you."

"The fact that you would suggest that is satisfaction enough."

* * *

On Friday the school had a pep rally in the gym during third and fourth period, which for John meant no biology or history classes. He didn't know whether to be pleased or disappointed.

He decided to go with pleased when he saw Rodney and Jeannie sitting with a small group of people at the top of the bleachers in one corner. Jeannie and one of the girls had a Chess board set up and were already engaged in a game. Rodney had a laptop open in his lap and was typing away furiously.

John headed towards them, and Ronon followed him.

Evan, Cameron and Vala peeled off to sit with another group.

"Hey, Rodney," John said, sitting next to him.

"Hi," Rodney said, a look of surprise claiming his face when he saw them sitting.

Ronon waved and sat.

"What are you working on?" John asked.

"Just… homework. John, don't take this the wrong way, but why are you sitting here? Don't you have… friends?"

"Yeah, and I thought I was sitting with one. If not then I'll stake out another seat."

John stood, ready to walk off.

"You don't have to leave," Rodney said, playing at exasperation. John could see the look of relief on Rodney's face when he re-took his seat.

"Then I won't," John said.

"Um," Rodney said, waving around to each of the small group members. "This is Miko—" the girl playing Chess with Jeannie "—Chuck, and Peter."

John waved at them. Only Chuck waved back. Miko sort of tittered just to be under anyone's attention, and Peter shrugged his shoulders. He was trading cards back and forth with Chuck.

"Guys, this is John and Ronon," Rodney said.

Ronon waved at them all, and he started watching Jeannie and Miko, dividing his attention only when Amelia led one of the cheers on the basketball court.

"You can't do that, Chuck!" Peter said. "You don't have that kind of power. You're only a dwarf." Peter sighed, but Chuck only re-examined the card in his hand.

John exchanged a glance with Rodney, who predictably rolled his eyes, and went back to his homework. John watched the cheerleaders for a minute, then saw Rodney closing his laptop out of the corner of his eye.

"What classes are you missing for this?" John asked.

"Calculus and physics," Rodney said. "Of course, I miss the important ones. Don't see why it couldn't be history or English."

"Oh, you've got Zelenka, right? He knows his stuff."

"Yes, we just started derivatives," Rodney replied, peering sideways at John in his sudden enthusiasm. "Easy stuff, it's not like we'll get behind."

"Easy stuff?" John asked.

"Well, easy when you're in Mensa," Rodney said.

"I guess," John said.

"Don't play stupid, John," Rodney said, smacking him in the arm. "You swept the floor with Kavanagh in last night's games."

"Hey, I'm right here!" Peter said.

Rodney waved him off. "Seriously, though. I bet you could get into Mensa. Why don't you take the test?"

John laughed. "Yeah, I've seen the way Mensa kids get treated."

Rodney fidgeted in his seat. "Yeah, me, too."

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that," John said, shifting in his own seat. "Sorry."

Rodney was silent the rest of the pep rally, as SGA President Teyla Emmagan gave the school a rousing speech and the cheerleaders took up another routine.

As they all headed for the double doors on the way to fifth period, Ronon caught up with Evan and Cameron, leaving John alone with Rodney—or as alone as they could be in a sea of swarming students. Which for John, it turned out, was more alone than he'd felt in a long time.

"So when are the tests?" John asked, attempting to start a casual conversation.

"What tests?" Rodney asked.

"The Mensa tests?" John reminded him. _Had he already forgotten he mentioned it?_

"You don't have to take it to prove anything," Rodney said.

"I'm not!" John said. "Just—look, you got me curious, is all."

"Curious?" Rodney asked. "That's all this is?"

John stopped, feeling like Rodney was talking about a completely different thing than Mensa tests. He wondered why he shouldn't just kiss him right there. Then another student bumped into John, jolting him back into reality.

Rodney had stopped, too, and there was an odd expression of sadness on his face.

"I think I get why you don't want to stand out, John."

It was eerie how easily Rodney could already read him, and he'd only known him a week. He swallowed down whatever there was left in him to protest, dipping his toes into this new water before he drowned in it.

"I think I get why you had such a bad time at your old school," John replied.

Rodney smiled. "Yeah," he said softly. "I guess we understand each other."

They made plans to work on Rodney's motorcycle over the weekend, and then they parted ways for their next classes-but not before John brushed the back of his hand against Rodney's, gently thumbing the skin at his wrist.


End file.
